The Lost Flash: Deleted and Alternate Scenes
by Element's Sole Protector
Summary: Follow Harry and the others from the Lost Flash through scenes that you didn't see. Some are real, and some are not... Rating could change.
1. While Harry Slept

Kitsune-Arii: …I take requests.

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**The Lost Flash: Deleted/Alternate Scenes**

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Deleted Scene I: While Harry Slept…

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Albus carried Harry's thin frame gently out of the alley, watching his steady breathing. Relief and guilt coursed through him all at once - he had sworn to the boy that he would not hurt him in any way, whether by touch or with his wand. And though he had not done either, the look of puzzled hurt in Harry's eyes when he had cast the Sleeping Spell tortured his thoughts. Surely, _surely_ Harry knew that he would never hurt him in any way, would never even consider...!

He ran into Remus and Mad-Eye Moody as he stopped in the middle of the street, pulling out a silver cigarette lighter - or so it looked.

_Click._

"Dumbledore!"

"_Harry!_" Remus cried; he was at Albus's side instantly, cradling Harry's head between his hands. The boy sighed; to Remus he seemed more of a child, or even more of his own age, when he was asleep and vulnerable.

"Gentlemen," Albus acknowledged softly, in between frequent _click_s. "I am glad you've caught up. ...But where is Severus?"

Moody shrugged. He had never much liked Snape.

_Click. Click._ "_Alastor_."

Moody sighed, and held up one hand. When all the streetlamps had gone out, he hastened to explain. "Potter - he managed a wave of wandless magic that knocked him out cold. He's back there somewhere..."

Albus's eyebrows rose. "A wave? Of wandless magic?"

"Yup. And like I said, it _**really**_ got - "

Moody saw the stern look in Albus's blue eyes and decided to leave it at that.

Albus put the Put-Outer away and turned to Remus. "And Nymphadora?"

"Harry's magic caught her, too - we thought you were back there, and so would find them first."

"No..." Albus smiled sadly. "I sensed Harry near me, so I of course went to find him. And here he is..."

Harry shifted in Albus's arms, scooting up so that his head was nestled in Albus's shoulder and his arms were gripping his mentor's back. The sadness in Albus's eyes vanished at once, replaced by a bright joy.

Remus said quietly, "Albus, come back to us..."

Moody chuckled; that brought the Headmaster out of his daze. Hastily he readjusted his posture, so that Harry would be more comfortable, and shifted back into being the Leader of the Light.

"Alastor - I know I am asking much of you, but won't you revive Severus for us? I am sure he would like to be conscious and not hauled back to Grimmauld Place like luggage."

"I could do _that_ for you."

"_Alastor!_ Please."

Moody sighed again and bowed his way out of the small group. Albus smiled ruefully, then turned to Remus - who was also smiling, stroking Harry's ever-untidy hair.

"Remus...I hate to tear you away...but won't you wake Nymphadora as well?"

"Of course, Albus."

"Thank you," Albus replied softly, taking Harry's hair gently between his own fingers; the sleeping young man giggled, shifting again. Remus's smile widened, watching them, before he went away to retrace his steps.

Left alone, Albus shifted his pupil's weight again - then he pulled out a silver whistle encrusted with scarlet gems, blowing on it lightly. One gentle note vibrated in the air.

A trill sounded in response; and in a flash of fire, Fawkes burst into view, singing softly. He flew in a circle, then landed swiftly on his master's shoulder.

Albus smiled yet again. "Fawkes...won't you take us to Grimmauld Place? It would be extremely helpful."

Fawkes trilled still more softly. _Of course._

"First things first, though, my friend..."

Albus concentrated on an image of Harry's wand, remembering with a bit of distress that the boy did not know what had become of it when he had run from the others. Then he held up one finger, made a swishing notion...

"_Accio_ Harry's wand!"

A soft _fwooosh_ could be heard from far away, and eleven inches of holly and phoenix feather flew and settled into Albus's outsretched hand.

"Good, good," he murmured softly, pocketing it for the moment. He would check for damages later, when both he and his child were settled (apart, as usual, but he couldn't help it!). For now he turned to Fawkes and whispered, "I'm ready, my friend."

The phoenix's fire sprang up around both wizards, hot and searing - yet neither was harmed as they vanished from Privet Drive faster than a Muggle could blink.

A trill sounded again, a remnant echo, followed by a strange sound:

_Click_.

* * *

By this time Remus and Mad-Eye had met up with each other, with the snarling, fully-awakened Potions Master and clumsy Metamorphmagus Auror in tow. After about two minutes of Snape and Moody glaring at each other and exchanging not-so-polite words, Remus unsuccessfully trying to play mediator, and Tonks yelling at the top of her lungs, a familiar sound was heard to all:

_Click_.

Instantly all the streetlamps on Privet Drive sputtered back to life.

Remus yelled, "_Stop!_"; and when the rest at last all turned their attention to him, he spoke in a calmer tone.

"...Look. Dumbledore's obviously gone now, and that means _we_ should be too. Now _let's go_!"

Grumbling, coughing and grunting, they all spun on their heels and were gone in one loud _pop!_.

* * *

"Here."

Andromeda Tonks took the boy gently in her arms, despite his obvious reluctance to being pulled away from Albus. "You'd trust me with him?"

"Of course," Albus replied, echoing his phoenix companion. "Should I _not_ trust you, Andromeda?"

"No!" She shook her head, dark locks bouncing. "I'd _never_ hurt Harry; and even if I were to consider it, I'd also factor in how you would kill me before I even plucked a hair off him."

He chuckled wryly. "I suppose I would at that."

Andromeda turned her attention to Harry; he was trembling, and when she put a hand to his forehead they both flinched.

"Albus...I mean, Professor...I _shouldn't_..._you_ should! He's so _hot_...feverish, definitely..."

He bowed his head. "I know. And I know that I cannot help him now."

"For heaven's - ! Is it _Rufus_ again?"

Albus chuckled again. "It is Rufus and Cornelius, actually. And I cannot ignore a summons at this time."

Andromeda snorted. "_You_ can do anything you want or wish."

But Albus was already striding away. "I'll come back to check on him every couple of hours each day - I'll want to know if he's okay. Get your daughter to help if you wish - she is quite fond of him, for only having known him for a year..."

"Albus! Wait, please, I - "

He turned around at the door, smiling, hair and beard shining in the little light, eyes sparkling even in the absence of his phoenix.

His eyes said _You'll do fine_, but when he spoke he only said gently, "Don't worry, I trust you."

The door closed and he was gone. Andromeda, now almost alone in the house, looked back at a beautiful, feverish boy she didn't even know and yet would have to nurse back to health...

"And that makes it _all_ better," was her sarcastic response to the air. "Contrary to popular belief, my mothering instincts do not kick back in _that_ quickly..."

But deep down she felt better, as all those trusted by Albus Dumbledore eventually do.

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...And that concludes Chapter Five's Deleted Scene. It is Deleted, so technically it is canon with _Lost Flash _- and those which say _Alternate_ will be more of 'what if' moments - fanfiction within fanfiction.

Chapter Six will have two Deleted Scenes! Double the reading pleasure! Yay, yay, and goodbye for now. Thanksgiving Break will be over in mere hours, and I must prepare for prison. Farewell.

**UPDATE:** Okay, I WOULD have had this out the last Sunday of Thanksgiving Break but for extenuating circumstances. And then _last_ weekend we got _cold weather_, of all things, and... forget it.

A true farewell this time...


	2. On the Knight Bus

Hmmmm...

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Harry Potter_, but I _do_ happen to own the ever-spinning plot idea and original characters that premiere in _Harry Potter and the Lost Flash_. Surely the beautiful, successful and intelligent J.K. Rowling would not begrudge me that much?

Kitsune-Arii: This is Deleted Scene #2, second to be written and posted. It is set during Chapter Six, when Harry and Company get on the Knight Bus to ride to Gringotts. Let's just say the ride wasn't all that enjoyable. There are two DSes for this chapter, so, needless to say, very soon... (deepens voice) _I'll be back_.

Element: Stop intimidating them. –Here you are...

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Deleted Scene II: On the Knight Bus...

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BANG.

"Sickening," Remus muttered thickly, going still greener as the bus swerved to yet another violent stop to let two or three more passengers off.

Hermione moaned, clutching her friend's had in an attempt to receive relief of some kind. "I hate this. _Why ever _is this bus moving so quickly? How much longer to Diagon Alley? Oh, I'd _much_ prefer a broom—"

Harry soothed them, surprising himself by remaining calm and unruffled. "Don't worry. It'll be over soon. It takes a time or two, but at least you know what to expect... Relax, Hermione, it's not really so bad."

"_Not so bad?_" they both exclaimed at once, looking equally scandalized.

"Never mind," Harry muttered, turning sullenly back to the window.

BANG.

"Outside London, Neville," Stan called from the front of the bus, his grin back in place. "Won't be long now—'ave to let ol' Madam Marsh off 'ere first..."

_What, that frequently-ill one? Why _does_ she still ride?_

BANG.

"Wonder how Bill and Tonks are faring downstairs," Remus said miserably; he looked worse than he did post-transformation every month.

Harry didn't know why he was so used to the wild ride the Knight Bus was after only three experiences with it—Remus obviously hated it (explaining why he hadn't seemed so thrilled at the last minute "change of plans"), it made Hermione violently ill, and even Ron had sworn last year that he would never ride again. Perhaps it had always matched the pace of his own thoughts, thus not being as much of a bother to him...

Anyway, his insides were much too mixed up by Sirius and other things to be ruffled by an overactive _bus_.

"'Ere—you 'eard about You-Know-'Oo's latest killin', Ern? Dead chuffed, 'e was, I 'eard, 'im and 'is Death Eaters. Got Muggles and wizards alike, didn't let nuffink stand in 'is way..."

Harry sighed, pressing his nose against the glass. Remus reached across, patting his shoulder and saying something soothing.

"He'll be stopped soon, Harry. Remember—he's no match for Albus and you."

_Maybe he _is_._

"...I suppose so."

Stan's voice echoed up once more to where they sat and suffered. "Next stop is Diagon Alley-jus' up the way, now—"

BANG!

Harry heard Ernie Prang swear, along with a word he suddenly didn't want to hear from Stan: "Oops."

Tonks's voice became as clear to the boy as if he were down on the first deck with her.

"What do you _mean_, '_oops_'?"

"Er—it seems—I mean—we jus' missed the Alley, miss."

"Missed the _Alley_?"

"Calm down, Nymph," Harry heard Bill snap. "No time for your tempers."

"If you'll jus' wait a mo', we'll drop off some passengers and swing back 'round..."

"Stan sounds shy," Hermione whispered to Harry; her mood had changed abruptly, for she was now giggling.

He was bemused. Not only could he not figure out what she was implying, but she was _giggling_. It was strange to him. "So...? He's probably intimidated by Tonks like he was the other time they met. He sounds pretty docile to me."

"Maybe...or maybe he likes Tonks!"

_What? What? What?_

"No way! Tonks is _always_ cross with him..."

"That may be the attraction."

Remus's hands twitched in his lap. "Well, you know, Harry... Hermione may be right. After all, Stan and Tonks are within a few years of each other in age... Tonks can be quite attractive when she wants to be, and being an Auror to boot... yes, I can see how someone like Stan might suddenly become smitten."

Harry raised his eyebrows as the bus stopped with an especially dramatic BANG. Remus was acting strangely. Was _suddenly _acting strangely: in the window's reflection he saw the man blush as a woman across the way smiled at him. Fortunately this was her stop, so as the bus BANGed its way in the opposite direction he had nothing to worry about. –Well, nothing _else_.

A smart-looking wizard staggered off as another BANG signaled his stop—Harry vaguely saw him hold his head between his knees, crouching, as they roared on. Now only a handful of other passengers were present, along with the five of them.

"'Ere we are," Stan called, sounding farther off now. "Comin' up on the Alley now—"

BANG.

"Damn it!" Ernie yelled (_He never was the subtle type_), and that was all Harry needed to hear. He knew what had just happened again _and_ what was coming next:

"Don't _tell_ me," Tonks was heard to yell, "that we missed Diagon Alley _again_, when once _again_ we were nearly there. _Please_ don't tell me that!"

Stan sounded a little testier now. "Now, look, miss, this 'ere must be a malfunction of the Bus, because there's nuffink wrong with Ern's drivin', 'ear?"

The bus was starting to BANG in very familiar-looking circles. One man moaned and began to go green; Remus snarled in a very werewolf-like way; his knuckles had gone white.

BANG. A few more people staggered off, but just as many and more were picked up next with another resounding BANG.

"Maybe we should get off of the top floor, go downstairs," Harry, unruffled still by all but Remus's strange attitude, suggested. "It might be better down with Bill and Tonks..."

But this suggestion too was shot down, this time by Hermione: "No way, Harry. I'm sorry, but I know that if I move even the slightest bit from this chair that I'll be hit or knocked over or I'll just throw up, and none of those sounds _any_ good right now."

_Thanks for your support._

"Fine, then maybe _I'll_ go—"

"No." Remus was back to being his parental/professor-like self, and Harry liked it just about as much as he hated Remus's actual words. "You're not going down there alone, even if we're on a sickening, runaway piece of magicked-up machinery that appears in different places every twenty seconds, in which you can't even _move_, let alone curse somebody else. We're staying, and so are you, until this bus stops for us."

Hermione was staring at him. That was probably the most he had ever said in one setting.

Sulking, Harry turned back to the window.

BANG.

"_'Ere_ we are," Stan moaned in relief-none upstairs saw him blush and edge cautiously away from Tonks and Bill. "Diagon Alley, miss. We'll be up by Gringotts in a mo'... Glad you got control back, Ern..."

"Like someone was messin' with the bus somehow," Ernie Prang mumbled, just loud enough for Harry, Hermione, and (of course) Remus to hear.

The bus began to slow, occasionally jerking to a complete stop so that some tired wizard or exhausted witch-with-family could get to the Leaky Cauldron or maybe Eeylops Owl Emporium or perhaps even Flourish and Blotts for some extra-early book shopping. Harry watched them all with a look of overall disinterest, trying to ignore the retching sounds that were suddenly quite audible in the background and foreground.

Hermione said suddenly, "For the record, Harry, I am very cross with you right now."

Harry jolted. "What? Why?"

"Because," she explained patiently (or at least _near_-patiently), "you _said_ that we'd get used to the ride sooner or later, I remember."

"You didn't believe me when I said it."

"Maybe not at _first_, but I did try and take your advice after that. And now I feel worse than I did initially!"

_And that's _my_ fault?_

"That could be because you hadn't been _on_ the bus then," Harry said dryly.

"Ha ha, Mr. Potter. And thanks ever so much for your input."

_Can I get along with_ anyone_ on this bus?_

BANG.

"Oooh, sorry, miss," Stan was heard to say, quite obviously. "Er—that might've been Gringotts, there. But I'm sure Neville 'ad nuffink _particularly_ important in there to do—now, if 'e was '_Arry Potter_-"

_Apparently I _can't_._

Harry got up, starting (or, rather, wobbling) for the downstairs portion of the bus with annoyance and revenge at the highest level of his brain (_how dare he goad me like that, even if he doesn't know it's me!_), but Remus stopped him—he found himself being too-easily-dragged back to his seat.

"Remus, _no_—that little—trying to goad me—just because of _Tonks_—"

"You will sit, and you will _stay_ seated," Remus growled, "until Stanley Shunpike is done with whatever game he may or may not be playing, and we can _all_ get off and then ask him what he was playing at—and that is _**final**_."

_Remus and buses don't mix—I get it already! Now can he please act civil again?_

Tonks's voice was a critical hiss that everyone heard. "_Sir_, I am a direct descendant of the Black family line—_direct_, mind you—and thus I _order_ you to get us to Gringotts Bank _this minute_ or else—"

"Tonks and buses are positively _volatile_ mixes," Hermione commented casually, as though she'd read his mind. "I've never heard her play the 'Black' card..."

"Being here," Harry muttered, "has brought out the worst in _all_ of you."

"_Excuse_ me? I'll have you know, Harry, that last year when _you_ were—"

BANG!

_This will be a long ride_.

* * *

Wow. It was _hard_ imagining Stan Shunpike's style of speaking...

And that concludes the end of the first...see you soon.


	3. In the Depths of Gringotts Bank

**The following spells in this Deleted Scene, canon to the Lost Flash, are of Half-Blood Prince origin. That means I do not own them (or Harry Potter) and just barely know what they mean. The Latin spells I found and my friends found for me will be defined.**

Kitsune-Arii: I told you I'd be returning soon. (smiles) Element is busy, and says to leave a message after the *insert noise here* on her answering machine.

–_What _answering machine, you ask? Simple—her "I'm watching Yu-gi-oh! 5D's, leave a message" one. So I'm taking over Chapter Six's _second _Deleted Scene, which is the _better_ one because we dive into the Dark Side. It's about time ESP decided to turn that HBP punch around.

Are you ready?

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Deleted Scene III: In the Depths of Gringotts Bank

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"_Ouch!_"

Narcissa Malfoy continued to attack him with her handkerchief, face set in a furious snarl. "Be still! This is only _another_ thing you have deserved lately."

"You're thaying I _deserved _dat punch from Podder?"

"Lately, my son, you have deserved every punch you have received—both figuratively and literally. I _warned_ you to go no farther with Potter, _especially _when Bellatrix had already been forced away and we were greatly outnumbered! Dumbledore was _right there_, for heaven's sake!"

"We 'ad _Profethor Snape _thanding right there thoo..."

Narcissa's voice sank to a hiss, its most dangerous level. "Professor Snape could have done nothing for us one way or the other! Do you hear? _Nothing_, foolish child! With Dumbledore there, mere inches from him, every move of his was undoubtedly dictated and restricted!

"You, Draco, have just proven to all assembled how very asinine the next generation of Malfoys shall be with you recklessness and dogged continuation of a _child's rivalry_! You have shamed the family name, if possible, even more so than did you father Lucius a month prior—!"

Draco was incensed. "Don't talk about _Father _dat way!"

"I am and I _shall_, Draco, for it is the truth! The time is long past for us to walk though the streets deluded and blind to what is real. Now we must face _fact—_your father is in Azkaban at this very moment because he went on the Dark Lord's _errand_, and his failure to retrieve that _item_—no, Draco, you shall _not _know of it!—has put the remnants of the Malfoy line in mortal danger! –Oh yes, Draco, _mortal_!"

"Surely not _mordal_!"

Dryly Narcissa replied, "Yes, my son; we are now up with Harry Potter in terms of danger. Thanks to your father, there is no safety offering for _us_ from the Dark Lord."

Naïve as he was, Draco only stubbornly shook his head—then winced as his nose throbbed with pain. Narcissa saw fury and humiliation and a shadow of both loathing and self-disgust in her son's pale gray eyes, along with the desire for revenge...

"You would do well to forget those feelings I see on your face, Draco. They are what got us here in the first place."

"Modher, dis cannot go unpunished. First dat _blood-traidor_ held back our rightful assets, den _dose goblins_ dared to be rude to _us_, and den _Podder_—" Draco shuddered, angry beyond reason.

Narcissa pulled out her wand. "**I** cannot stand the sound of your mangled voice any longer. _Tergeo_. _Evanesco_." Immediately her son's nose re-fixed, and any and all blood remnants were wiped away. "If the Dark Lord sees fit to punish it when I inform him of it, _then_ it shall not go unpunished. _We_ shall do nothing. –Ah!"

A goblin came to them and wordlessly led them deeper into Gringotts, into the rapidly-moving cart and down many, many feet. Narcissa put her handkerchief in the pocket of her mouse-gray robes and sighed at her son's blatant foolishness.

"What about Grandmother?" Draco's voice rose with indignance. "_She_ wasn't afraid to get rid of those who dared to challenge what was right and true, the purity of blood—when your sister Andromeda stepped out of line, she erased her from the family _and_ didn't have to convince you and Aunt Bellatrix to disown her! When that mangy blood-traitor Sirius Black defected from the true path, _he_ was erased _and_ arrested for twelve _years_! Are you strong enough to follow Grandmother Black's lead?"

"You will _be silent!_"

When Draco shrank back, chastised, Narcissa raged on, thankful that the goblin driving them to their vault was ignoring their loud, heated conversation. "What you have done and said today _defies_ stupidity! Do you no longer think on your own? The Dark Lord would tell you much of the same—to try and harm Potter before _Dumbledore_, of all people, would be equivalent to signing over your own life to the latter—it has yet to succeed! ...And _will_ it, Draco? Will it _ever_? –And will we be _alive_ whether the Dark Lord succeeds or not?"

"_Mother!_"

"There are some things you are choosing not to understand, Draco, and your stubbornness will one day ruin you unless you rein it in."

Draco remained silent for a time, still angry. When the cart halted at vault five hundred and thirty-four, he waited until they were both within their own vault to say, "Mother, where _were_ you for so long the last time you had to...follow orders?"

Narcissa glared, ice-blue eyes blazing fire. "First, that is none of your business. And secondly-were I to tell, you would be as good as an orphan.

Draco paled.

"There, _that_ has jolted you. Now, gather what you need—Knockturn Alley awaits."

He finally found a comeback. "But Mother—the Dark Lord must surely be considering me—my loyalty to him—our family name and stature—"

"Which is now in ruins," Narcissa noted coldly.

"—soon I could _**surely**_ be of use to him at school—"

"_No_," Narcissa growled, furious at the very thought. "That _will not_ happen. For one, Albus Dumbledore allows no Death Eaters to roam the halls of his school, and he knows all—he _cannot_ be fooled, and once he found you out, which would not take very long, I'm sure, your education and safety would be finished."

"He was fooled in my fourth year! And Professor Snape—"

"Two entirely different situations!" They were back in the cart; next second they were lowering their arguing voices as they sped back upward in a long, dizzy climb toward the entrance. "Professor Snape is a talented Occlumens, one of the best in our world—and the junior Bartemius Crouch was a madman craftier than many with such a warped thought pattern—much like my oldest sister, the one you seem to so _admire_."

There was a hint of recently-born jealousy threaded into her voice.

"_She_ gives up _everything_ to serve the Dark Lord," Draco breathed, oblivious to his mother's current emotional turmoil; his fascination with the woman knew no bounds.

"That is because she has no children and does not love her husband as a wife should—thus she has naught to lose and little the Dark Lord can deny her—except, of course, his affection." _And often he does._

Draco did not respond.

"You are little more than an immature _child_, Draco, and so you shall remain at Hogwarts and (hopefully) become a mature young man."

The boy began to sulk very obviously, but Narcissa ignored his fit and stepped (well, climbed) gracefully out of the cart as it ground to a halt, pulling him along with her; her thanks to the goblin, if any, went unsaid, something he did not take lightly.

A combination of several painful memories flowed through her mind, most of them recent, and most poisoning everything she had once believed in. Her faith had been shaken, and now she felt like a drowning child, waiting for someone, _anyone_, to save her. Yet what she had said to Draco was true—the Dark Lord would not go to any special lengths to save them, not any longer. So if _he_ would not...

"Good day, Mrs. Malfoy, young Mister Malfoy," the goblin at the front desk called smoothly from behind them as they departed into warm sunlight. She nodded backwards in silent reply, and stopped her son from rudely, audibly sniffing.

_If the Dark Lord cannot, save us, _will not_ save us...who __shall__?_

"And for your future knowledge, Draco...you would do well to respect your rivals, lest you need them later on and are forced to use them as allies."

"_Rivals_ becoming _allies_?" Draco scorned, secretly horrified beyond words. "And why would I need to do something like _**that**_? Are you saying...me and Potter... Me and _Potter_... you've gone mad, Mother."

Have_ I really?_

She sighed. "Heed my advice, my son, for after a good amount of time in life I have discovered that it is the only good advice I have."

They went silently down Diagon Alley, their steps quick and troubled. While Draco stubbornly refused to see the other side, the side he considered beneath them, Narcissa Malfoy found herself pondering that very side, its very players, its very leader, and wondering if it was they who might provide her family's salvation...


	4. More Unpleasant Business

Another Deleted Scene! Has _anyone_ been waiting for these, I wonder? Oh, well. I control them today. Kitsune-Arii is off keeping a certain Balthier Bunansa from flirting with too many other ladies.

This one, as the current chapter does (8), focuses on the Flash Searchers/Warders/Protectors/whatever. This time, however, we have a person who's a bit more familiar to readers to take the reins of narrator--Ren Rivers, Jonathan's mother. (laughs) And you'd probably better read this one even if you haven't read the others but are reading _Lost Flash_ (WHEN CAN I UPDATE THAT?!?)... otherwise 40+ chapters later these names will come up and you'll be like, "What...??"

There's swearing! Watch out. Hell hath no fury like... you know the rest, regardless of gender.

**I own all of these people**--_except_ Voldy, of course. That's right, every last one of them. I will give descriptions of all at the end.

**A note**: the names of the _avöys_, the Teachers, are pronounced in this village differently than one might think. Most things _are_ pronounced oddly there. Spelled out, they have an 'h' in the correct place--thus, Kennil's Teacher is known as Avöy Fhlint. Flint is related distantly to fire. All I did was add an imagined accent and an 'h', guys.

I warn you. This Deleted Scene is loooong. I start today, December 28, and who knows when I'll get to push the "Add New Chapter" button I've seen so many times today.

* * *

Deleted Scene IV: More Unpleasant Business

* * *

Yet another annoying factor in a nearly-horrific day: Milius and his magic hairbrush were nowhere to be found. There would be no hair-brushing _today_, either.

So bemoaned Ren Rivers, said man's beautiful wife, as she swept through dry dust and stomped over ant colonies on the way to her destination. Her powder-blue eyes were set in an irritated slant; her blood-red, still-tangled locks burned in the heat of the day; and she was not going to one of her favorite places, that was for sure.

She glanced back, imagining that she could see all the way to the other side of the village, where she'd just left the ever-smitten Kennil Nixten (or so he called himself, though she doubted something so elaborate to be his surname) to guard that particular border. _He doesn't know how lucky he is right now--just guarding one of the village's borders? I'd do that in a heartbeat now when I wouldn't have before. I'd trade with him before he could even ask me to, even if it _is_ just until that brute Toxill relieves him in the night...._

Ren had partially lied to Kennil back there--she had not meant to, and felt worse about it because she considered him a close friend of her and her family, but it had not been of her conscious choosing. She had to face it--Voldemort had changed her priorities around. She was a new person--a new _creature_--with new adversaries and goals and truths and possibly even new allies....

She might actually need the _wizards'_ help.

_No. Never. I may have thought differently before, but.... If they could let loose a monster like Tom Riddle onto my son, what few of _them_ could possibly be good, as we are?_

_...But then again, perhaps some..._

She shook her red mane, confused and weary and pained beyond measure.

_My _son.

_My beautiful, defenseless son..._

"Jonathan," she murmured brokenly, and let a single tear fall into the dust around her. "Why... why my Jonathan? Why did he have to die, of all the souls in this world and the people Death could have taken--why _him_? He is **_still_** traveling... not yet ready for the ceremony... oh, it will be at least another _year_ of the pain and madness that follows one of our deaths, and it isn't fair, it isn't... it isn't..."

A moan escaped her lips, and she had to now think in order to move her feet. Every day on this earth with her husband but _without_ her son was a nightmare. And all because of the slime that other magical world feared, the one who had sneered and snarled and looked her Jonathan in the eyes and snuffed him out, in the way that even the precious Lost Flash of theirs could not completely fix. Such a delicate, fragile string, mortality was, even with that.

_How dare he? How dare that scum, that bastard of the magical world, look us all--look _me_--in the eyes at his sentencing and tell me that my son **deserved to die**?!_

Anger built in her, and she channeled it into the fierce determination she kept cool inside her when Milius was not around to heat it--and even sometimes when he was around. Ren started down the hill, toward the small cave-covered-by-a-waterfall that at times occupied her weekly nightmares.

This was the place that the Head Judge, jury and every _avöy_ they currently had had chosen to summon Lord Voldemort to--the place he had thus appeared and subsequently been captured. This was the place Ren had been summoned to--or, rather, called to appear at--when some of the same monster's possessions had been left and discovered by her people this very morning--the start of the current horror.

And this was the place Ren had been _then_--almost a month or so ago now, talking with Avöy Shoil--when she had been interrupted in her daily lesson and told that her son had been brutally murdered.

* * *

"Hello, my moody pupil."

Ren fingered a particular curl in her bangs and murmured, "Greetings and salutations, Avöy Zhephyr."

The Teacher of Wind made his way over to her, pushing his hair back into the knot his own breezes frequently blew it out of. His eyes, cloud-gray and always seeming to move and swirl, softened as he gazed upon her and petted her own unbrushed (alas, as of today!) hair.

"I see that your beauty is still marred by deep grief, my dear Ren Donaeve."

She blushed lightly, in the way she often had as a younger student. She and Avöy Zhephyr were immensely fond of each other. She often went and spent days with her gentle-yet-equally-moody former Teacher--he affectionately called her by both her first and middle name, the latter of which meant 'dove' in the language of their people.

"I miss my son every moment of every day, Avöy. But it is good of you to still compliment my looks."

Avöy Zhephyr smiled thinly. "Forgive how bold I might sound, or don't, but I daresay I am one of few men, besides your husband, who is brave and open enough to do such a thing."

"Avöy!" She covered her face to hide her oncoming blush.

"What? I am sure that Avöy Shoil would say much the same. Men watch you with restrained longing, Donaeve. but revealing that before you or, worse, your family, would kill them inside. Surely you notice."

"There aren't so many admirers of mine as _you_ make out," Ren protested--but quietly, because she sensed that others were coming to take their place at Flint Wake Lane. "And I _have_ noticed occasionally; Toxill, then men with Jonathan's Avöy some months ago... once Kennil was acting odd--well, no, only _slightly_ so--"

"Your surnameless Kennil watches you more than occasionally."

_Kennil is whatever and whomever he chooses to be,_ Ren thought, and returned to naïveté. "Kennil's watching is hardly more than friendly or innocent."

"Is it not, Ren?"

_He sees right through me._ She changed tack at once--one would think she was playing a game. "I have tried every way I know of to reject him while retaining our friendship..."

"And I have had conversations with the other _avöys_ about your relationship," Avöy Zhephyr returned gently, knowing that he was not offending her by seeming to pry in her personal life. "We have interacted with you. We have interacted with Kennil. We are saddened to decide, unanimously, that there is a possibility that you may lose his friendship once you confront him. Kennil idolizes you. He is completely infatuated with you. When he realizes with his heart that he cannot be yours..." He shook his head sadly.

Ren bit her lip, upset at further unhappy news.

"Yes... he is quite smitten by you. To your son's obvious annoyance," Avöy continued, and was pleased when Ren laughed.

_Yes, he and Kennil always were at odds. Oh, I remember--!_

Oh, it was too painful to remember anymore.

Avöy gently butted into her thoughts. "Remember, Ren, I am only assuming this from the way Kennil acts around you. He was not a pupil of mine; I do not know his moods and habits as I do yours. Even _his_ Avöy acknowledges that infatuation with you is the only reasonable idea he can think of."

_It is merely deep loyalty,_ Ren told herself, hardly listening. _And whatever it may be, Milius and I allowed and encouraged it. It must be innocent--or else we--I--am too trusting of him?_

"Avöy Zhephyr, Apprentice Ren."

They both looked--a tall, middle-aged man was bowing their way and pointing farther into the cave.

"That's _Aspiring_ Apprentice to you, Shaewn," Avöy Zhephyr corrected gently; Ren waved this away, though she secretly loved the title.

"Yes, Avöy. --Please proceed further into number Four-Six-Five, so that you may join those others who have arrived and examine Lord Voldemort's possessions."

_Sadistic tyrant_, Ren thought despite herself, and realized how bluntly she had thought this when her former Avöy frowned her way; sighing, she dampened her thoughts and followed Shaewn into the cave of her nightmares.

* * *

The depths of the cave were dark and murky, and Ren stepped in filth every few steps--and her face contorted automatically each time. She was not one who was overly concerned with appearance (in fact she held little respect for those that were), but nor was she completely naïve to the concept. Meanwhile, next to her, Avöy Zhephyr's feet did not seem to be getting dirty--or even touching the ground--at all.

_Wind. He's using wind to levitate over the ground._

It was only a deep, profound respect for her teacher, mentor, guider and protector that kept Ren from muttering _'Show-off'_ in his direction.

Shaewn was shivering. Even though Avöy Zhephyr had wrapped a warm wind-blanket around him earlier, the cave's dampness was seeping into all their bones, practically past even magic's protection.

"How much further, Shaewn?" Ren queried gently. To her, all men were secretly hiding a piece of utmost fragility deep within them (even her dear Milius, bless him)-- and so she spoke to them softly, so as not to frighten that side.

"There are some steps coming up, followed by the secret passage Voldemort's possessions have somehow found their way into... I believe Avöy Fhlint was previously down there."

"Wonderful," Avöy Zhephyr expostulated in mock-cheerfulness. "I will be happy to clear out the fumes, ash and even smoke that I am sure accompanied his visit! It is my job, yes, to oppose him with my talent? Fire and wind, earth and water, after all! Shall I summon a breeze?"

Ren giggled like a schoolgirl. Both she, Shaewn, and basically everyone else knew that all of the many, many _avöy_s were actually very fond of each other, and conversed frequently on the ways of the world and their many pupils; and they could often be caught squabbling between element types, the which-is-better sort of thing one would only expect from the village _children_.

_We're here, Ren Donaeve._

Ren nearly jumped; she noticed then that Avöy Zhephyr was flickering around the edges of her mind, gesturing her attention towards the passage they had now entered--_ full of people, Ren, so you had best not drift off again._

Avöy Fhlint was nowhere in sight, but Ren saw two women she recognized--Luesa and Imilia, a young midwife and her younger apprentice, masters of herbs and some of the few allowed to travel as far away from the village as needed to find the right ones. An older woman called Zillia was present as well, who was an expert on poisons and Dark artifacts; and among the men present were Shaewn and Brintus, a magic-forger; Neikoli and Antylus, part of the Judicial Counsel that judged those who committed crimes against the village's peace, and were thus placed in the Chair of the Sentenced; and of course Avöy Zhephyr beside her.

_All in all, quite a group._

"Hello, all."

"Greetings, Apprentice Ren," most replied in unison, gentleness and pity an undertone in all.

Avöy Zhephyr muttered under his breath, "Goodness, _you_ aren't much for enforcing titles, are you, Donaeve?"

She smiled resignedly to show she'd heard, and then turned back to the others. "Is Lord Voldemort's pull on us really so great?"

Most of them hissed angrily at the name, but Neikoli bravely replied, "Is our pull on _him_ really so great? It seems he is loath to completely leave us." He glowed and straightened when Ren chuckled at his quip.

Luesa remarked, "We were asked to accompany Avöy Shoil when he came to investigate the rumors of Voldemort's presence. He took some dirt--I should say, _earth_--as a sample. I must say, I wish that slime had never _heard_ of us, so that I wouldn't have to be so nauseated by being in here. I played in here not ten years ago, for goodness' sake!" She sighed. "I'll bet those blasted _wizards_ are behind this! How else could Lord Voldemort, one of _them_, have found out about our Flash?"

Antylus remarked offhandedly, "Some are saying that Jonathan told him...before his spirit disappeared."

Ren turned briskly to him, snarling. Her blue eyes flashed fire and ice and even seemed to contain earthquakes and wild winds. "And who might those people be, so that I may proceed to find and vaporize them for spreading such... such _vile lies?!_ How **_dare_** they say such and claim to be one of us! _My son?!_ Jonathan, some sort of _snitch_ who would trade information in begging for his life?! _Where did you hear that from, Antylus?!?_"

She started toward him, intending to summon a tornado _right then_ that would dangle him by his nosehairs until _he_ snitched, but Zillia and Brintus blocked her path.

"Please do not, Ren," Avöy Zhephyr murmured gently from behind her, showing no sign of unsettling feelings.

She was sure that her face matched her fiery hair, so great was her misdirected rage. "Do _not_, you say?"

"That... is not something _I_ would ever think," Antylus noted firmly, almost hastily, with no small hint of panic. "Do forgive me if it sounded like I _did_ think that! I would _never_. I have known and liked Jonathan since before he himself could remember."

"It is forgotten," Ren remarked softly, her anger ebbing, though a still-softer voice inside of her told her it wasn't.

_Do **not** parade and entertain your anger and grief in such a way, Ren. This will be my sole warning._

Ren flinched mentally. _Yes, Avöy._

"Let us move on, young ones," Zillia rasped, holding up some of her specially-made potions and gesturing to Voldemort's possessions--which, Ren noticed for the first time, were two ragged books, a dark vial of some unknown substance, and (to some horror from all present) a live serpent slithering around all of the items. "We have little time to dilly-dally, as the vile snake reminds us. We must discover, from these things, how Voldemort knew of us, so that we know what to do next."

"A wise sentiment," Avöy Zhephyr agreed.

The snake hissed, faked a lunge. She seemed to Ren to be protecting her master's items. _He should not have left them, then, whether we hurled black lightning at his backside or not. We made him leave his wretched pet--Nagini, wasn't it?--but he could have retrieved his belongings before the Head Judge zapped him--or at least after he managed to somehow escape._

"Do not approach the snake!"

This call came from Zillia, warning off the nauseated-yet-curious Brintus.

"Judicial Counsel members are immune to serpent poison, Poison Sorceress."

"So you think!" she cackled madly in reply, frightening even the violence-hardened snake. "You Judges are taught that upholding and doling out our Law makes you practically invincible! Are you ready and willing to stake your only True Life on that, Magic-Tamer?"

Chastised, he shook his head in the negative.

"I didn't think so. Now--Luesa! Imilia! Get rid of the vile pest!"

"Yes, Zillia!"

Both young women grimaced (letting Ren know they would probably be using some wizarding magic-terms), then acted before anyone could blink:

"_Vulnero!_"

"_Expulso!_"

The first spell caught the snake; she hissed in pain and yet managed somehow to barely avoid the explosive spell.

"_Obtineo!_" Imilia cried desperately a mere second later, but too late; Nagini had already begun making her escape toward the hills beyond the Flash Searchers' cozy village--upon sensing her destination, Ren did not move to stop her as she might normally have done.

The young midwife's apprentice sighed. "I can never get my Grasp Spell right."

Brintus held out his arm and summoned a finely-crafed golden staff into view, which seemed to gleam with a brimful of white-hot power. "_I'll_ give chase, Little Apprentice."

"You will not," Neikoli retorted, halting him in his tracks. "It is too dangerous to go chasing after a sentient creature like _that_, especially when she has already proven her loyalty to the monster who killed one of our own." He sent an apologetic glance Ren's way. "I say good riddance to the snake! It knew it was not welcome here, it has left without causing harm (unlike its master, whom I wish fervently had not escaped), and if it had remained I'm sure our Sorceress would have poisoned it within the hour."

"I see **_some_** of you Law-nuts are screwed in properly," Zillia praised, smiling slyly at the young man's odd flattery.

Avöy Zhephyr snorted, rolled his eyes, and conjured a breeze that swept Voldemort's books into his outstretched arms. Immediately he opened one and began to read, eyes racing down the pages.

Ren petted Imilia's nearest shoulder, oblivious to her Teacher's odd quiet. "There, there, Imilia. You did well--I would never have thought of those spells you uttered."

"But they both missed," the young girl protested. "And I practiced them both with your son, too! I was getting better--much better! _Now_ what will Jonathan think? --Oh, I'll _never_ impress Kennil this way..."

Ren couldn't help but blink at the mention of her son._ I didn't know he knew Imilia, much less was helping her... and with impressing **Kennil**, no less!_ She had to smile in spite of her ongoing pain, pain that had resurfaced when Imilia mentioned Jonathan so casually. _How very... intruiguing of him..._

"_What was that_?" Shaewn grumbled, arms crossed, as he joined the party of two. He'd been looking rather left out the past fifteen minutes or so.

"Oh, Cousin Shaewn, lay **_off_**! There's nothing wrong with Kennil at all, so don't go through your little scare-off ritual!"

Shaewn blinked rapidly, in mock-hurt. "Is that what you dare call me protecting you from yourself, and all your little girl-crushes? My 'scare-off' ritual?"

Ren hid a smile behind one cleverly-placed pinky finger, while her blue-gray eyes shone with related mirth. _Kennil, Imilia is perfect for you._

"Never mind!" Imilia huffed, now acting more like herself as she turned back to the mother of her young, former coach. "I thought you'd like to know, Aspiring Apprentice, that Milius is coming to join us in a few short hours--along with Kennil."

She smiled dreamily, girlishly, and sighed, while Shaewn growled and crushed a pebble in his hands, then blushed guiltily--Avöy Shoil had been his first Teacher, when he was a youth, and had given him a deep respect for all things earth. Including defenseless pebbles.

"You don't have to call me all th--" Ren digested the rest of the sentence. "Wait--Milius is coming? --Oh, that's **_wonderful_**!"

She took Shaewn's hands and did a short dance with him, relieved to see a probable, calming hair-brushing in her near future.

Her smile widening, Imilia turned to helping Luesa with the mysterious vial, lifting it to a spot where it could be easily picked up and examined. Zillia watched them do so, her dark eyes calculating.

"Ren, Zillia, Neikoli, Antylus, Brintus! Come and listen to this."

_Avöy?_

Ren hastened over, followed by the Poison Sorceress and the three Council members; when they were close enough, Avöy Zhephyr opened to one section of the first book and started to read.

_"Not much is known about the mysterious group of people who call themselves 'Flash Searchers', among many other names--what kind they may be, how many of them there are, who they are loyal to, et cetera. Scattered reports are all the Department has and may ever have, as scattered as the meetings between their people and ours--rarer than You-Know-Who's so-called 'returns'."_

"'You-Know-Who'?" Antylus queried, understandably puzzled.

"They mean Voldemort," Avöy Zhephyr clarified, adding thoughtfully, "This book, and its partner, must have been authored recently--Voldemort has only "returned from the dead" once that I know of, over a year ago."

No one questioned how he knew this--aloud, anyway.

"On I go. --_'We the Unspeakables theorize that these 'Flash Protectors', for reasons unknown, despise their fellow magic-wielding kind and wish to live separate, mysterious lives in a village whose location no one remembers. Remembers, yes--we have received our stories of these people from wizards and witches fortunate enough to have met them over the past seventy or so years (perhaps more).'_"

"Fortunate indeed," Brintus voiced smugly. "And _of course_ we don't like them!"

"Hush," Avöy Zhephyr scolded, though they could tell he held back a grim sort of smile. "Listen. _'Those whom we have interrogated speak of remarkably similar events--they claim to have met a Flash Searcher, formed some sort of close relationship with same, and then through that trust learned about the villagers' way of life. Alas, all recounts end the same: at the height of the relationship, when the witch or wizard is accepted not only by the initial villager but all the rest, tragedy comes to give the Flash Searchers reason to protect their most valued treasure.'_"

"Our Lost Flash," Luesa breathed, putting one hand to her chest, horrified. "They knew... they _know_... oh my goodness..."

"Yes. And there is more.... _'Their most valued treasure, from what we have gathered from sketchy details, is a 'lightning-bolt'-shaped wonder of sorts imbued with the secrets of life and ways to tap that power, harness it. 'Immortality' is a repeated theme here.' _Hmmph," he grunted, turning the pages in a slight huff that sent chilly air flying through the cave. "They know not the quarter of it--and _immortality_? Bah! That is their word for the things they don't understand about us. _Hmmph_. _'None can remember the name, a precaution we suspect the villagers have managed to take before the witches and wizards could return to their own world. Only our guesses support what the Flash Searchers are to the wizarding world.'_"

He closed the book, smiled wistfully.

"Zhephyr... it's true?"

"They know little of us, from what this book's contents implies, but yes--it is all true. Their lack of knowledge about life and death spawns more Dark Ones than we _avöys_ can all count--but yes, all true. The wizards and witches who came across some of us made a few of us believe that perhaps their kind were no longer so terrible, foolish, dangerous, that maybe we _could_ live peacefully with them aware of us." Avöy Zhephyr sighed sadly. "Zillia, every one of ours who has tried has watched tragedy follow with a heavy heart. Wizards are greedy; they want the Flash, as Voldemort now does; there is no good that comes from mixing our magics."

Ren did not heed his embedded warning to them all, though a part of her knew that she should. "You sound as if you quoted that last part, Avöy."

He looked amused. "I did. Apparently a prophecy was made regarding the both of us: _The magics must not mix for long; no good comes of an overlong stew._ Quite intriguing."

Imilia said bluntly, "Sounds like a witch's riddle, or some stupid Muggle fortune cookie message."

They laughed heartily before Neikoli suggested, hesitantly, that the prophecy could be related to something else--seeing as it was made by a _witch_, and all.

"Prophets are not ever wrong, regardless of birth," Zillia growled firmly. No one argued.

"Avöy Zhephyr," Antylus prodded impatiently, "the second book...?"

"Naturally. However, I must rest and recover my mind and tongue first, my Impatient One."

Antylus blushed; quite a feat, as he was hardly ever ashamed.

"Avöy..."

"Yes, Ren."

She swallowed hard once to regain her courage. As she did, she straightened her back and consciously narrowed her eyes--it would do her no good to look like any less than a serious threat.

"I request your permission, on your authority as a Teacher, to allow me to leave our village, so that I may complete some important business. I have never asked to leave before, as you know well, so I ask that you not deny me reflexively--this is a matter of Flash Searcher privacy, integrity and liberty, and only I may uphold them."

Avöy Zhephyr had paused in the act of beginning to read from the second book; he closed his eyes, let out a smooth breath, and fixed Ren with a piercing glare.

"Only _you_, Donaeve?"

"Yes."

_Aren't _you_ suddenly confident,_ Avöy Zhephyr thought almost snidely in her mind--aloud he merely asked calmly: "And what 'important business' is this? You see, as a _highly respected_ authority, I have a right to know."

_Indeed?_

Ren got the distinct impression that her beloved _avöy_ was not very happy with what he saw as her 'sudden _desire_' to leave their home, the only place they belonged in the world. No one was allowed to leave on a whim, after all--permission was required, and anyone breaking those rules was... _punished_, and even sometimes banished from their little world forever--and that last had not yet happened, _ever_. ...But she had to be honest, especially with him, or lose any possible credibility.

"I am going to find this 'Department' the books speak of--it is of Mysteries, you say? Good--they will see much mystery in the sudden, brutal slaughter of the Unspeakables who authored this monstrosity."

"_Ren!_"

"Do not chastise me! I want your word that I may leave, not any sniveling sympathies or scoldings as I have been getting for the past month from _everyone_ I dare to look in the eye!" Several of the others present, already horrified, flinched at this direct accusation. "There will be blood on my willing hands _tonight_--all I need do is link my element to the magic those vermin used to magically seal these books. Then I could find them wherever they would go--offing them would be simple from there. In the name of my son and the Life he lost because of these _fools_, I will wipe them from the earth--!!"

Silence descended for about thirty seconds.

Avöy Zhephyr growled softly--a warning hiss that sounded like bells chiming. "I will not allow you to leave our sole safe haven from the world to fulfill some personal vedetta, Ren."

Could he not see that that was only _part_ of it?

"This is no _vendetta_! These books and those with the knowledge of them--and us--are dangerous! We already have the books at our disposal, to seal away or to destroy--but who knows who has already read them? I am only going to eliminate the fiends who brought Voldemort on us in the first place! Any of _you_ would do the same!"

"Ren," Neikoli implored softly. Brintus and Luesa echoed his plea for her to see reason; as if there were any reason in the world anymore. Avöy Zhephyr spoke not at all.

"I will have their heads," Ren continued to storm. "Why would _you_ stop me? Wizards are _evil_, after all, powered by naught but _greed_ and _selfishness_ and _arrogance_. We are their betters in every way--we must _act_ on that, punish them now for their _wrongs_!"

Imilia was the first to frown suspiciously--she was young, raised in the teachings of their people just as all young ones were, and hearing Ren's deliberate, mocking, caustic doubts was unsettling and strange to her--and frightening. No one questioned their lives without some retribution.

Avöy Zhephyr looked sadly at her--his gray eyes met her flashing powdery ones for a moment in time. He was the first to look away; he shook his head slowly but firmly. "No."

"That is your final decision?"

"What you speak of us only the truth, Donaeve. Keeping that in mind--I would refuse to expose you to a full, unfettered blast of it all."

"Then I will become an exile!" Ren declared vehemently, passionately. "The very first, I do believe--I will be an outcast and complete my mission that way! We will see if your misguided protectiveness stops anything then!"

She turned around gracefully, her crimson-colored locks whipping around with her, and said over her shoulder, "If I must run away from this place, I **_will_** punish all of the guilty--"

"And since when did _married_ people run away in this day and age?"

As the new voice echoed through the cave, a shiver of excitement passed suddenly through Ren--with a short gasp she walked forward a little ways toward the mouth of the cave, her eyes widening. Two tall male figures were approaching their group, slowly but surely. They seemed to be carrying a lantern (_Wow--has it really gotten that late?_) and speaking in the way two men will when they are not enemies, but not the best of friends either.

As they became visible, Ren recognized both of the men but one in particular: a thin, lanky man wearing thin, light-colored and -weighted clothes, with a few bands on his left wrist and a bronze earring in one ear. He had pale brown hair, recently streaked with blond veins that ran here and there, and intently focused, cloudy gray eyes that saw Ren more clearly than any other villager--including her own parents.

"_Here_ you all are," Kennil sighed with a note of relief in his voice; he flexed the arm that was holding their lantern. He spoke to them all while pushing his blond hair out of his face with his free hand, but his eyes found and locked on Ren in particular. "We were starting to think you were all digging into the rock somehow."

"Not my specialty, Fiery One," Avöy Zhephyr pointed out dryly; he sent a gust of wind meaningfully over the young man's head. Kennil blushed.

Ren, on the other hand, had eyes only for one man: Kennil's companion.

"Milius!"

* * *

Kennil sniffed and then snorted, pushing the vial away from his nose. "Yuck. This is Voldemort's, all right. Wnat me to send it out in a blaze of glory?"

"That won't be necessary." Avöy Zhephyr waved him off, chuckling. "And, Kennil... a popular proverb you should remember well: _"Poison doesn't have to be drunk to be identified.'_"

"Oh... right..."

Ren was paying no attention to the conversation her friend and Teacher were having; her husband had grabbed her and now playfully spun her around. She laughed and laughed and beat fruitlessly and joyfully on his shoulders, both telling him to stop and continue--he was making her blissfully dizzy.

"You're back! When did you get here? _How_ did you get here? Are you well? _Were_ you well while so far away? How was the outside world--everything you experienced? --For heaven's sake, Milius, _speak_!"

Milius laughed. His eyes sparkled with amusement and mischief. "Yes, I have returned, as of a few hours ago--and I traveled there and back by way of the waves, of course. I am and have been well, and I enjoyed my time away--don't tell anyone else, will you? ...I believe that answers all of your questions. Please don't regain your breath to ask anything else!"

His usual, sorely-missed easy demeanor made Ren beam like a ray of sunshine. "Oh... I overwhelmed you again. I'm sorry. But--I'm so, so, _so glad_ you're back with me... I have missed you, love."

Milius kissed her--a full, gentle whisper. "I missed you more."

They were halted from getting too lost in one another when Kennil called loudly: "Oi! We don't need a typhoon sweeping through here right now--_lay off_!"

Breaking away, Ren shot back: "You know, Kennil, it makes me indescribably happy that I can still feel excited when my husband graces my presence after fifteen _years_ of marriage. Think about that--I was already married to him at your age! Perhaps if you found a wife yourself, we could talk at length about the joys of matrimony."

Kennil stared at her but did not answer.

She turned back to Milius. "You know, love, Kennil needs a partner. We married a little early, everyone agrees, but I'm sure we could use the time Ken still has to find him a suitable young woman and let them get to know each other..."

"_**NO!!!**_"

Milius's eyes sparkled. "I think that's an excellent idea." When Kennil glared at him, mouth open in horror, he shrugged and said "Sorry, Kenn, but I _do_ think a girl could have a chance at softening your ragged disposition." He then quickly busied himself with attempting to destroy Voldemort's mystery vial and whatever it contained, sending short bursts of water its way.

"Wonderful!" Ren cried, ignoring Kennil's reactions in general. "So... do you have any ideas as to who our headstrong, loyal, adorable friend should marry?"

Milius, ever quiet, did not answer immediately. He smiled slightly with one side of his mouth as he kissed his wife tenderly again; then he held out his two hands and flicked the fingers of one. A tiny spurt of water sailed through the air, split into two and hit Avöy Zhephyr and Kennil at the same time.

"Avöy. Kennil. --Shaewn. I'll need your help to transport this vial for further study."

"A smart choice," Avöy Zhephyr agreed, shaking back his sleeves--he had always liked Ren's husband. "I, too, thought it might be best to learn of the substance within before we destroyed it."

He readied his wind; Milius his water; Kennil his fire; and Shaewn, with some considerable pride in being needed, his earth. Power enough to destroy such a fragile wizard's vial--or send it straight to the Judicial Counsel's doorstep for examinations and other tests.

_Fwoosh. Splash. Whoosh. Vraaak._

Hit on all four sides with the four basic and most powerful elements on the planet, the vial could not help but surrender--with a last sinister gleam it vanished away.

Ren did not sulk at having her wind excluded--instead, she continued to pester Milius for a straight answer. "_Who_, love? Is there _anyone_ Kennil is worthy of?" She was, really, playing games with him. She already had her own idea.

"_Worthy_ of--?!" Kennil spluttered, his ego butting in; with a yowl he soothed his now-burnt, pink fingers, the victim of distracted flames.

"Zillia, Luesa, Imilia, Brintus, Neikoli, Antylus--leave." Avöy Zhephyr pointed them to the mouth of the cave. "Our business for today is done here--I and my brethren will take the rest from here."

"I want to stay," Imilia murmured, glancing at Kennil. Luesa smiled.

"Brintus," Milius called. "Tomorrow we'll need to make another weapon for me. It's a long story."

"Of course, Mill. See you then."

_What does that mean...?_

"Come on, Milius! Kennil and _who_?"

Milius blinked. "Imilia, of course."

Imilia seemed to melt into nowhere faster than Voldemort's vial had. When the others saw the way Kennil's face was morphing, they evaporated as well. He never could take a joke.

"WHAT?!"

_We really _do_ think the same!_ Ren thought excitedly, as Milius's smile widened and Avöy Zhephyr had to fully endeavor to calm the "Fiery One" down. _If only Kennil was on our wavelength..._

"Give her a few years to mature, of course," Milius went on, seemingly oblivious to the way Kennil was practically breathing fire--which even among them was a near-impossibility. Then, as if to prove that his mind was on the same track as his wife's, he pulled something small and cerulean out of his pocket and whispered gently in her ear: "I thought you might be desperately needing--and wanting--a hair-brushing by now. Was I right?"

Ren hugged him, squealing in delight. This day hadn't turned out _so_ badly after all.

* * *

"Anything eventful happen while I was away?"

Milius's hand guided the cerulean brush down his wife's long, cascading red curls--she sighed blissfully. She'd been waiting a long time (so it seemed) for his return--this pleasure branched off from that one. Now Ren could almost _see_ her hair shining, the way it was meant to. She had learned long ago that her hair required a lot of care--but Milius loved her so much (and she him) that he didn't at all mind.

"Welllll..." she pondered, quietly drawing out the word to fill the silence of the no-longer-lonely house. "...there was one little thing--a resolution I've made."

"Oooh, do tell." His voice was a low purr. "'Sharing is caring', as the Muggles say."

Ren's eyes narrowed as she went over the day, all the past days, in her head. Rage uncapped had since then spread through her blood to mask the guilt, the sandess, the loneliness lurking beneath her pretty surface. She hid her true grieving and thus new purpose even from dear Milius. This was not something shou could just share away or diminish--it was a mother's pain at losing a child, unique as the mother's revenge (not retribution) which she now summoned up to accompany the anguish and lost love.

There was no denying it--the world had become a cold place when her son had died.

As of now, unless things changed over the next less-than-a-year, life as she and Milius had once lived it was over. She had a new goal. The passion of her heart and the fuel of her fire was to search the land, going where she could and would, to find Voldemort--her son's murderer--the terror of the wizarding world, her supposed enemies-by-different-values. But if Ren had to employ even wizards' help for what she wanted she _would_--and if it took her last breath, she **_would_** see the vermin Dark Lord, that Voldemort, shrivel and writhe in pain before death.

She could use her element to her aid, ride the winds. Yes. But how would she even leave, escape, to search for the means of her vengeance? No thanks to her former mentor, she could not, now.

"Ren...? Are you still here?"

She could not tell him all of that. He would think her mad.

But--

_Ah, yes. That is how I'll manage._

_...Forgive me, Avöy._

Ren gazed up at her husband, pale blue eyes into gray, and completed her thought--her new resolution.

"Do not ask me why I am going to say what I shall say next."

"All right."

"From this point on, each time that you leave the village, _I_ will be at your side."

"...I'll be leaving again when September commences."

"I'll be waiting for you at the gate, then, love."

Milius Rivers simply kissed his steadfast wife then, because he knew it would be no good at all to argue with her--for him or anyone else.

* * *

Done, done, done on March twenty-ninth. Wow. Fingers--hurt.

* * *

**_Spell Definitions_**:

_Vulnero_--to wound, to injure

_Expulso_--something along the lines of, "to grasp" or "to hold"--I used it for the idea of grabbing something you don't want to get away. In Imilia's case, it epicly failed.

* * *

**_Characters_**:

The Flash Searchers/Warders/Protectors are a group of people who live in a tiny village, whose location I will currently not disclose. They hate wizards, and they protect something very powerful and mysterious, which is the focus of _Harry Potter and the Lost Flash_ (other than Harry, of course). Voldemort wants it. I think those three previous sentences are pretty self-explanatory of everything.

_Ren Rivers_--Jonathan's mother, a redhead with an extremely bubbly personality--at least, until her son died a month previous. She now seeks private revenge, and would stoop to any means to see Voldemort dead--even mingling with wizards, which has long been declared forbidden. Idolizes Albus Dumbledore. She's about 35 years old, and has an affinity with wind.

_Kennil_--A blond young man whose personality really doesn't fit his fire affinity--unless you're talking about the enmity he had with Jonathan Rivers or the passion he secretly holds for Ren. He's 21, and is called "Ken" or "Kenn" for short.

_Avöy Zhephyr_--The current Teacher of Wind (zephyr, get it?). He taught Ren all she now knows when she was a girl. His personality is very laid-back, and he holds an inner sadness. He's, um...really old? Dunno. That's spoiling if I tell.

_Avöy Shoil_--A Teacher of Earth (soil). He's only mentioned here.

_Shaewn_--Pronounced "shoon". A very respectful, middle-aged man. He's Imilia's cousin, and as such is very protective of her, and wary of all men her age. He's an earth affinity.

_Avöy Fhlint_--A Teacher of Fire (flint), specifically Kennil's teacher. He's really cocky. Must be all that ash in his brain--but he's really very intelligent, and, again, only mentioned here. Chapter Eight's his forte.

_Luesa_--A young midwife who is free to travel anywhere she needs outside the village to collect necessary herbs and other things. (She doesn't take this trust lightly.) She's 22 or 23, earth affinity and very childlike at heart.

_Imilia_--Luesa's apprentice, earth affinity and about 17 years old (in other words, a _little_ too young for Kennil at the moment!). She accompanies Luesa on her missions, and can be very boy-crazy, and resentful of Shaewn's protectiveness.

_Zillia_--Called the "Poison Sorceress" for her well-known, erm, _knowledge_ of all things poisonous and how to make them. She's also the one to turn to for information on Dark artifacts, as she has a very Dark-like aura herself. People in the village fear her, and so respect her--only the _avöys_ are unaffected by her. She's old, about 75-80.

_Brintus_--A magic-forger, one who forges things out of magic and materials (often metal). Weapons are his forte. He's friends with Milius, and a very protective person himself. A member of the Judicial Counsel, those who judge any trouble-causers and law-breakers, and water-affinitied.

_Neikoli_--A shy young man who says little and delights in being liked. He is a voice of reason, and wind-affinitied.

_Antylus_--A man who's mentally older than he really is. He's very scathing, sarcastic, but mostly harmless and annoying. Another wind scholar.

_Milius Rivers_--Ren's husband and Jonathan's father, about 36-37. He's quiet and unassuming, however he can be very teasing when he wants to be. Milius dyed blond streaks into his hair because he wanted his ordinary brown to look more exotic while he was out doing who-knew-what in the Muggle world. He's a water baby.

* * *

Now, see you in Chapter Nine... hopefully...

(passes out)


	5. Doing Something Reckless

To everything there is an opposite, and thus balance.

This marks the start of the _Lost Flash_'s Alternate Scenes. These are scenes that _could _have happened but _did not _- fanfiction of fanfiction, as it were. So, unlike their Deleted counterparts, they did not happen behind the scenes, or at all.

And yet, ironically, _they_ are the reason this sub-fic was created in the first place.

Don't own HP. Let's do this. It's so dark it makes me squeal with pure happiness. Remus comes unglued.

* * *

Alternate Scene I: Doing Something Reckless

* * *

Transforming hurt like hell, as usual, but this time a taste of something (of many things) long-forbidden staved off some of the pain.

Oh yes, oh _yes_. He hadn't felt these things - or even the _shadow_ of these things - since before Sirius had died, since long before James had died and Peter had turned traitor and somehow unraveled the fabric that had kept the Marauders on top of the world.

He tasted these somethings with longing and desire and expectation. He _wanted_ the feelings mysteriously engendered in him. He craved them. He anticipated them all.

Rage.

Indignance.

Power.

Control.

Vengeance.

The passion to bite had returned again, as always, waxing and waning the rest of the time and now fully awake, but he held it tight inside of him with sweet promises that he actually intended to fulfill. Somehow.

Images of why he was turning to violence flashed through his canine thoughts, being jumbled by their human taint. They helped him possess the feelings - _yes_ - and embody them completely, capture them for himself. Those emotions could be claimed by no other.

They were his now.

_Mine._

A growl slipped past his jaws. The images were back.

_Wormtail._

He bared his teeth.

_Rat. Schemer. Fiend. Traitor to the pack._

They'd see about that. He would have Peter Pettigrew's blood first.

Thoughts rushed by...

_Voldemort. Alpha. Enemy. The alpha wolf who leads the scourge of all packs, the bane of all of our existences. The worst wolf ever born. He destroyed my pack - I'll vanquish his._

_Every one of them. Tonight._

_Bellatrix._

His shoulder muscles thickened still more; he somehow bit down to keep himself from howling at the sky. A few snarls slipped through his self-imposed mouth guard.

_Rabid wolf! She killed Sirius - wiped him out - her own kin! Her own blood, her own pack! Traitor, sick traitor - her blood is mine!_

It was getting harder and harder for him to retain his human way of thinking with every passing second, but he knew he would have a hybrid mix of thoughts for two more moon cycles before he had to surrender to the true wolf within - he had looked it up.

He had not been taking his Wolfsbane potion for several weeks straight now, and would have admitted it to most anyone who asked - what better way to strike fear into the iron hearts of the traitor wolves than to let them know that he was jumping off the edge of madness to meet them and tear them apart?

However, without the potion's helpful (if weakening) influence, he was becoming more and more - _wolfish_ - with each passing cycle. Fortuitously as of yet, no one suspected that he had a deeper plan when he was out on reconnaissance missions for the Order of the Phoenix, or even that he had not taken one sip of Wolfsbane since the day Sirius had died.

No, better that they stayed oblivious. He had work to do.

_Of course, I wouldn't have any such work to do,_ a small reserved sense of human self whispered from deep inside of him, _had I not been bitten as a child by the most twisted, cruel, fiendish wolf-brute in Voldemort's pack._

Yes. Of course. It was all his fault, and so he must pay as soon as possible.

_Greyback._

Still under lock and key at Azkaban, of course (no less than he deserved), yet how much longer would Voldemort let imprisonment of his Death Eaters, or even the whole prison itself, stand?

_I can sense him. Even so far away I feel his thoughts, though he cannot hear the murderous nature of my own mind and so warn his pack... He's bored. Itchy. Anxious, excited. He wants out so he can kill more people, shed more blood, ruin more lives... have more fun, as far as he's concerned. Beast. Traitor. Filth._

_His alpha will make sure he and all te others get out, and I will make sure that they are each felled by my teeth and claws. My bite, my scratch, my kill._

He raised his head to the ceiling and at last let the ache in his chest materialize into something real.

_AAAAAAAAAAAAAA-OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!_

Transformation complete, Remus Lupin propelled himself through the second-floor window to make good his escape. He heard the window SHATTER clearer than he would have as a human, and landed roughly on his paws and settled into a clear lope down the street with only a few cuts to his name.

_My revenge. At last. I am so very ready for them... all of them._

_The Order tried to give me "grieving time". "Off-duty" time. Sorry, guys, but you need me. As far as I'm concerned, this _is_ my grieving time. And, anyway, all that silver in Sirius's house was messing with my psyche._

He melted into and joined the shadows, shaking off those silver feelings.

_Now my **real** job begins_...

* * *

He pounded across the plain, through the deep grasses that tickled his fur, and splashed through ponds that matted down the fur on his swift paws. Time had never been as meaningless to Remus Lupin over his whole lifespan than it was during his run to the enemy's safegrounds. Time had always been coveted and documented before - he treasured the seven glorious, unbitten years of his life; he revered the time he'd spent at Hogwarts, the first time he'd had a pack that loved but did not fear him.

The sickeningly-long ordeal of Pettigrew's betrayal, James and Lily's death, Sirius's imprisonment and thus Remus's own resulting loneliness had been the longest and most crippling period of his life. And with Sirius's true loss now heavy in his mind and heart, this time seemed to be moving both sluggishly and much too quickly - but as he loped across the plain now, time to him had no meaning at all. He would make it to his destination. He would announce his arrival if necessary. He would then find one of his targets - _any_ target - and eliminate them.

Simple as that.

The faces of his own pack swam in his mind, and he felt his wolf-mind falter in its bloodlust.

_The Weasleys._

What a wonderful brood.

_A pack of their own. My save haven, my friends - they accept me into their pack so easily, and so they are my pack as much as I am one of their pack._

_The Grangers._

_The best Muggles I've yet seen - know I'm a wolf but don't flinch around me. And their daughter's a bloody _genius_._

_My Auror friends - Tonks, Kingsley, Mad-Eye Moody._

_Another pack that's joined with mine. Some of my closest pack-mates, too. Whatever would I do without them?_

Faster. Run faster. He was slowing down, losing time. Faster.

He stretched his canine legs, ignoring their moans of pain from long-suffering runs just like this one. There had been too many, too many, too many, way too many lately.

_Hagrid._

_My pack mate who protected me, helped me, helped me always. Always kind, always sensitive, always trustworthy... with most things..._

_Professor McGonagall. Minerva._

_My surrogate wolf-mother. Always ran at my side, _has_ always run at my side to confide in and trust and trade stories with. Best teacher I ever could have had._

Remus was thirsty. God, he was thirsty. What he wouldn't give for a glass of water while he reminisced about his beloved pack! He was half-surprised that he didn't keel over right now and die like horses did of overexertion. Perhaps it was the werewolf side of him. Or, perhas, the fact that he was essentially half-and-half. Human mind, wolf pack-mind and madness; human inner strength, wolf outer strength and stamina. There _were_ some good things about being this kind of beast after all.

Oh, God. Had he just rambled about his _condition_? ...He needed water, fast. When was the last time he'd drank anything, for the love of Merlin?

The pack, the pack, he must go on for the pack. Without him they were screwed - for they may have been his pack, but he was the only true wolf. Against every other scourge wolf in Creation, he stood alone. Only he could level the playing field - and, as Voldemort would soon learn, he was going to enjoy doing just that, fangs bared, claws sharp, eyes piercing.

Speaking of pack leaders, of alphas...

_Dumbledore. Albus._

_Our alpha, our Wise One, our strongest force. My mentor, my protector, the one who allowed me a new home and a safe way to enjoy it. The reason I met James, Sirius, and the traitor rat Peter when he was as loyal as they come... My teacher. My friend._

Remus couldn't fail the man, his leader, not for all the money in the world, because the headmaster had trusted him and stood up for him when everyone else had shunned him, and pushed him away, and whispered unkindly about him when he was not present; and because failing The Pack was not an option. Dark Lord or no Dark Lord, _no one_ got a second chance after failing The Pack.

Greyback could fail all he wanted; he had no real pack to his name, but roamed where he would, occasionally slipping into dark pockets of half-formed mockery packs like Voldemort's if it meant being able to do the sick things that were his only desire in life.

_Rabid wolf won't get another chance. I won't let him hurt any more pups. No more. There are too many promising cubs just barely come into the world, testing out the sights and tastes and smells. I'll protect them all. Especially mine - I've got a cub of my own to protect -_

Sweet Merlin...

Abruptly, painfully, while startled and suddenly taken over by painful emotions of all kinds, Remus stumbled over his paws - his legs tangled - he fell, yelping, whimpering and yipping all at once as he rolled and tumbled out of control. He was so dizzy, so dizzy, so pained, that he was only mildy surprised at what happened next.

SPLASH.

He'd landed in a lake.

A voice singsonged in his twisted mind. _Wanted water, did you? Be careful what you wish for._

Remus shook his wolf-head firmly while underwater, surfaced, choked and growled and nearly howled all at once, trying to get oxygen to his brain - then, panting, body heaving as he fought to stay afloat, he used his already-tired paws to swim to shore. He must have had quite the momentum when he'd lost control of his feet - er, paws.

_When did this lake get here? And... wouldn't I have been running _parallel _to it, and not straight toward it? Unless I rolled sideways farther than I thought... much farther..._

It took ten minutes of precious time to swim to shore, climb up on the banks, cough and snort more water out of his nose and mouth, respectively, and shake himself enough that most of the water that had accumulated in his now-darker coat was now slipping into the ground. Remus decided then that he hated water - it had nearly killed him twice now (good thing he had practiced swimming in this form) and would slow him down for the remainder of the journey to Greyback's - to _Voldemort's_ - territory. _And_ he'd be sick once he was human again.

Although...

Well, night was falling... the water, if his fur stayed damp for long enough, _might_ provide a good cover, a way that he was not-so-noticeable. Camoflauge, if you will.

Oh, how his head hurt. That had been a horrible fall.

Or was it his heart that was hurting?

The name came to him then, like a jolt of electricity, the very instant his paws hit the ground in another run.

_Harry._

No. He pushed it aside, tried to bury it so it couldn't rip at him, tip him head-over-heels again. And yet Remus _couldn't_ rid himself of the name and of the images that one name brought to mind.

It was too much. He whimpered, recognizing the source of all his pain and love.

_Harry. Harry! Oh, Harry; oh, my bright-eyed, messy-haired Harry, my only cub - my only boy - my silly, lonely, lovely little wolf-cub._

Black hair and green eyes danced in his vision.

Another whimper tore its way out of Remus's throat, followed shortly by a protective growl. Harry was _his_ cub, _his_ to protect and feed and nurture and marvel at - his and no one else's. Harry was the last he had of study sessions with James and rough-yet-playful tussles with Sirius and quiet common room chats with Peter, with the good Peter and not the rat one; and he was the last bit of comparing notes with Lily and wandering the streets of Hogsmeade with his Animagi friends, and playfully measuring the distance around Lily's waist when she was pregnant...

Yes, Harry was all he had left from those golden days. And though he had lost everything else he loved, Remus vowed then and there that he would not lose his cub - and that Harry would not soon lose him. Too soon, after all, and he could not lovingly tell the boy of the Marauders and their time at Hogwarts, of pranking everyone who could stand up straight, of close encounters with Snape, of his mother and father in general. He was the last link Harry had to a better time - and so Harry was for him.

_I will not let Harry fall. All but him have fallen in one way or another, but he will stay perched high, where none can hurt him or bring him down. I won't let people or monsters like Fenrir Greyback or Voldemort lay a hand on him. I can at least promise him his safety..._

_Cub! Harry James Potter, I promise that I will always keep you safe. No harm will befall you while I'm alive to stop it. Keep this promise close to your heart, cub, in case I never get to make another._

_You are the only reason I breathe, and I want to keep it as such_.

* * *

_Voldemort's slacking off. No guards, no sneak attackers - nothing._

It was Remus's first human thought upon seeing the mess and systematically-closing-in wreckage of the maniac's new camp. The wolf side of him, growing ever stronger, merely snorted.

_No need for me to shrink back into the forest's shadow._ (For there was a forest behind him, which had allowed him to sneak undetected to the very edge of Death Eater territory.) _I'll search out for one of my sleeping targets - or even an alert one - and kill them, as soon as I find them and pull them into the shadow of death._

He began to sniff around the tents, hearing familiar-sounding snores and unfamiliar ones as well - Voldemort had evidently been out recruiting recently. None of them was the one he sought. He'd go for Voldemort himself if he felt suicidal enough, but at the moment he wanted Greyback's blood. If he _had_ any blood in his veins, that is, and not iron or steel. Would that make going after Greyback _more_ suicidal than it already was?

Nevertheless, a rousing werewolf-on-werewolf fight, full of blood and growls and bites, sounded good to the part of him that howled for revenge.

_Greyback, Greyback... where is the rabid wolf?_

Sniff, sniff. On Remus went, ears alert, nose almost touching the ground, until a snuffling sound stopped him in his tracks. A familiar, rather _wimpy_ snuffling sound.

He bared his fangs in delight. _Wormtail_.

He listened a moment more, another moment more, and eventually slipped upon the quiet, grassy spot his former friend was sitting and brooding in.

_Good old Wormtail, out alone at the edges of Voldemort's camp, where no one could possibly hear your scream or come to save your scrawny neck fast enough. Not that anyone in their right mind _would_, anyway._

Remus crept forward on all fours, holding back the growl that had crept to the forefront of his throat.

_Closer._

_Closer._

_Step._

_Step._

_...Stop._

Wormtail's disgusting odor flooded his nose. He smelled as if he'd bathed in the blood of all those he had tricked and betrayed, and that of those whose lives he had simply ruined.

He was shivering, too. A sick pleasure came over Remus, fueled by simply watching the man suffer, suffer as he deserved to suffer, as he had made his pack suffer all these years.

_Former pack._

No one turned their back on their pack without paying for it. _Especially_ not somone like Wormtail. With a newborn snarl, he sprang.

Peter Pettigrew jumped up just in time to yelp - then he emitted several short squeaks as he was knocked to the ground and dragged away. Fear flooded his being - he knew exactly who his captor was, and a feeble and pleading moan escaped him as he was pulled over flint, ash from dead campfires, dead leaves, sharp rocks covered with dried blood... Fangs sank deeper into his shoulder - he looked up and met yellow eyes...

_Hello again, Peter,_ Remus thought with both wolf and human mind. _We haven't seen one another in a while... a long while. And after such a long separation, I'm sorry to inform you that today is the day you die. You will pay a vicious price for your vicious crimes. _

_- But I've really _missed _you, Peter. Why don't we have a little chat or two? Just you... and me... and my wolf instincts... and woodland animals ready to hear your last screams._

And he escorted his former friend into the utter darkness of the forest's shadows.


End file.
